Friday, May 12, 2017

See you tomorrow, Johannesburg!

I'll be at The Kingsmead Book Fair tomorrow for two sessions, reading a bunch of poetry and signing books - I really hope I see you there! Click the image below for more info.


4 comments:

Who Am I? said...

Thank you !!

Jasmine Kwek said...

Hello! I am your a huge fan of your writings. I am from Singapore and not sure if you will be dropping by sunny Singapore any time. But just want to say a huge thank you for your words. It has made me decide to let go of someone who doesn't care. Thank you , I am in less pain because of your words.

Jasmine Kwek said...

Hello! I am your a huge fan of your writings. I am from Singapore and not sure if you will be dropping by sunny Singapore any time. But just want to say a huge thank you for your words. It has made me decide to let go of someone who doesn't care. Thank you , I am in less pain because of your words.

Anonymous said...

Dressing up

In a world where books
Are the outpost of the few
Who favour must and foxing, over
Passwords and user names

In that world, on a Thursday
You my daughter
Wouldn’t dress up
For school
No Alice-in-Wonderland
For you

Hiding behind teddy
When we get there
You say you’re scared
Of “monsters”
The characters from books that your friends
Put on for the day
At the bequest of teachers
For Book Week

And I, in my confusion
Over who I must be
Protector, acceptor or socialiser, mom or moraliser
Moulding you to fit
The book or
Technology of it all
- The language spoken
En masse in
Suburbs of privilege
Where roles are played,
and played out

I failed you.
And for that
I am sorry.



An owl hoots on the roof 12 December 2016

Writers, write
Poets, poem
Sea froths and foams
Trump, trumps
Lambs bleat
Blacks and whites
Black and White
And the world doesn’t miss a beat.

Down where it’s swampy
The heat churns the mangrove swamps in our bellies
Shoots and leaves

And you bring my bowl
Fat banana slices on top of overcooked oats
And I long for honey
as next to me, she delights in
the big bad wolf and three pigs
Sticks, stones and bricks

And later that evening
from the back of a Nissan with dog hair on the seat
I realise another comet’s left its tail
In the December sky


Morning page (written this morn)

I dreamt of making love to you
On a string of sliding pearls
I dreamt of hiding high up on lofty library shelves
Darting here and there amongst the books
Dusty, musty
Of pirouetting on the ceiling
An upside, down ice-skater
Internalising blade cutting arcs underfoot, on white peeling paint
Like a crunch, a good bite

If you looked from above, high above my roof,
You’d see me there in my rectangle of bed
And next to that, your roof, and yours
And your rectangular patches, foiled, uncoiled, open and closed
Patch-worked and un-embroidered, all

Each night we lie out
Cocooned in myopia
The endless plains, and alleyways of our minds
Tangled and untangling
Hot and cold and freezing, some
Navigating and plaining, diving and dipping, running and hiding and embracing the slide
The Mother-of-pearl or Father-of-fear
Mothers becoming daughters meeting lovers they’ve forgotten by day
And know still by night
Fathers grinding teeth and conquering Rugby posts
And tramps, sleeping in dog blankets with crowns of leaves whispering promises
like whores in mittens
seeking happily ever
after


- Mandy Walker
(I met you at the book fair. Promised to send you a poem. Have now transcribed about 50 form notebooks I've had for years into one document. Would like to send you more/get your advice re how/where to send them... with a view to finally, boldly embracing the poet inside. If you are open to reading more/mentoring me pls let me know, thank you. Mandy)mandy@henrygeorge.co.za; mandywalker759@gmail.com